Poetry by Alinda Dickinson Wasner

At the edge of the woods todayI catch the maples and the sumacin flagrante delictogoing at it right out here in the openin front of Godand the red October sun–who would not want to watch?

And so I stand, transfixed,stunned by a sudden memoryfrom the ancient past:how the flick of a lover’s tongueonce set me all on firemade me throw caution to the wind.

“Whatever you do, just don’tbe seen together,” our best friends warned–But wasn’t that exactly what we wanted?The deliciousness of the dare?the flaunting of the forbidden?as if there was no wayeither of us could have predictedthat the last leafwould be ripped from the branchby a jealous wind,that separatelywe’d have to endurethe rage of a cold November?

And yet, come Maythere will be no dearthof innocent young green thingsout here on the forest flooropening themselvesleaf by leaf in front of usas if to tempt usonce again–into forgetting.